Reunion
by thesilverscreen
Summary: The Big Wolf gang as you've never seen them: Over the hill! Reflections and memories at the twentieth reunion of Pleasantville High.


Reunion  
  
Author: CelEStial  
  
Disclaimer: Though I wish I did, I don't own any of the characters or anything related to BWoC. I just make lousy attempts at fanfiction. So don't sue me.  
  
A/N: This is my first fic. About anything. Ever. So don't be too harsh. Basically, this isn't your average BWoC fanfic. Takes place at the twenty- year reunion of Pleasantville High.  
  
Merton took in a deep breath and released it slowly. He gripped the steering wheel of his newly-purchased hearse until his knuckles turned white. Flashing colored lights could be seen through the windshield, and Merton could feel the pounding bass of a 90's hip-hop song from the driver's seat. The origin of these sights and sounds was only twenty-five yards away, the gym of Pleasantville High. Merton made every attempt to avoid that gym when he was attending the school, and now, he'd give anything for a note excusing him because of Tibetan flu or an asthma attack.  
  
For about five more minutes, he watched aged, yet familiar, faces joking and teasing outside the streamer and balloon-decked doors. Merton was about to get out of the hearse and brave the giggling crowd, but panic struck him. Suddenly, he was bombarded with flashbacks of his high school days. Laughter at his expense that once echoed through the hallways now echoed in his memories. His cheeks began to sting with the once forgotten (but now remembered) slaps of numerous girls that didn't take kindly to his "compliments." The taunting, the teasing, the insults, and the beatings (both physical and verbal) now began to bubble up inside him, boiling his heart. What was he doing there? Why had he returned? Those people refused to accept him twenty years ago, so what made him think that they would welcome him now? Merton then remembered why he had skipped their first reunion, ten years ago. He knew then that he couldn't bear the torture and torment that awaited him, so what changed his mind this time?  
  
And then he remembered. Merton hadn't come back to relive the pain and anguish that he suffered in high school. He wasn't a masochist. And he wasn't here to flaunt his new found success and wealth, though that may come as a plus later. He was here hoping that he could talk again with Tommy and Lori. Merton had neither seen nor spoken to either of his former best friends in a good two years. Ever since he built his vast and still- developing chain of hearse dealerships, he had been too busy to keep in touch with anyone. He hadn't been on a date in three years, and at 38, he was quite embarrassed to still not have started a family.  
  
But he didn't want to think about that. Not now. Right now he had bigger fish to fry. He missed his friends dearly, and he'd brave any kind of fish to see them again, even the sharks that thrived in Pleasantville High. Releasing another sigh, Merton opened the car door and slowly emerged. He eased the door shut, trying not to draw attention to himself. Maybe he could sneak into the reunion undetected and quietly make his way to Lori and Tommy (if they were attending).  
  
Suddenly, a car zoomed past Merton's parking space, honking its horn, and caused Merton to leap forward in fear. The door slammed on Merton's right fore and middle fingers, and he uttered a stifled cry. He quickly turned with his back to the hearse, shifting his eyes around and making sure no one had seen his klutzy mistake. Two women were quickly walking past, their heels clicking on the sidewalk, their hands clutching tightly to their matching handbags. Their pace quickened, though they did not hesitate to shoot Merton an astonishing glance. He coolly smiled and winked at the fellow alumni and waved after them with his free left hand. When they looked away from him, he exhaled heavily and brought down his left hand to smooth the front of his three-piece suit. Quickly, he turned around and freed his pained right hand. It immediately began to show discoloration, and Merton decided he would have to steal some ice cubes from the punch bowl and a couple of napkins to construct a makeshift first- aid treatment for his hand.  
  
"So much for not drawing attention to myself," Merton muttered.  
  
With a final frustrated sigh, Merton ran his non-aching fingers through his jet-black hair (speckled with a few premature gray hairs) and began the long walk to his reunion. 


End file.
